


Dinner at Walmart

by makingitwork



Category: Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Breakfast at Tiffany's AU, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Meet-Cute, Oblivious Stiles, Pining Derek, Possessive Derek, Protective Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 13:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14619515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: The Breakfast at Tiffany's AU no one asked for





	Dinner at Walmart

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> x

Derek thinks witches have a weird sense of humour. 

You make  _one_ comment off-hand at a supernatural flee market and all of a sudden an old lady in black robes is muttering incantations about how rude the younger generation is (excuse her, Derek is 26) and saying that Derek will learn to understand the charms of the past. 

Laura had elbowed him and winked. "See that, Der? Charms of the past. It's gonna get you!" She waggled her fingers in front of his face and he batted her arm away with a scowl.

"Yeah sure. Are we gonna continue shopping or what?"

And they had made their way away from the old witch, and thought no more of it.

And it continues like that for a few weeks, until Laura demands that Derek make popcorn for movie night and whilst he's in the kitchen glaring at the slow ticking timer of the microwave and wondering why he's even getting her popcorn in the first place, (he does not think it would be a cute idea, and he definitely does _not_ crave the warm, buttery taste of the snack), when she calls:

"Oh my god! Breakfast at Tiffany's is on! Der-bear you have to see this!"

Derek rolls his eyes, tapping his fingers against the counter during the final seconds before the microwave dings, and he dumps the popcorn into a bowl and heads back into the living room. He groans when he sees what Laura has picked, and passes over the popcorn as she makes grabby hands for it. "Really?" He sighs, exasperated "a black and white movie? Why?"

She throws kernel at him "this is a  _classic,_ you heathen, watch and learn."

He picks the kernel off his chest and eats it merrily, settling into the couch when he feels it: tingles all up his body and the whisper of the words _charms of the past_ and then he's dizzy and closing his eyes in pain. 

 

When he opens them...

well, the only thing in his mind (annoyingly in Laura's voice) is _you're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy._

It's...New York? Maybe. 

But everything looks different.

Emptier, the houses are old but they look new, but it's the cars that are the give away. They're vintage, all of them, parked along fifth avenue and this looks eerily like the beginning of that movie and oh god Derek's beginning to realise what this is. It's the witch's curse. The air feels...everything feels...it's almost indescribable. It's a beautifully sunny day but when Derek looks down at himself he's in a three piece suit instead of jeans and his shoes shine almost obscenely.

"You Derek?" comes a voice, just as Derek touches his head and realises that his hair is slicked back with some sort of gel. It's a large man with a balding complexion. Derek nods once, and the man pushes an envelop into his hands. It's heavy and the paper feels much thicker than Derek's used to. "I've been waiting for you all morning-" and yes, it is morning, even though when he was with Laura is had been ten pm at night. "-you're at the right place- that house there." He points to a town house just across the road, nice and tall and something that would cost upwards of a million back in Derek's time. Forward in Derek's time? In the future, at least. "Second floor, someone will buzz you in, alright?" Derek nods, and the man untucks a newspaper from under his arm. "Here, I'm done with it. Rents due on the 15th!"

And then he's off down the road, and Derek's left wondering why there is even a place for him in the past. And then he's wondering if this even is the past, or if this is just a movie universe. Either way, he's not going to turn down accommodation, so he jogs across the road, in awe at the lack of honks and traffic jams. As he waits for someone to buzz him in, he glances at the newspaper. Okay, definitely New York, and it's Thursday the 5th of May. A lot of people Derek doesn't recognise are on the front page, and the ink on the newspaper is a little wet, but then someone buzzes him in. 

He jogs up the steps clutching the envelope, feeling a little awkward in his suit but simultaneously feeling a little smart, but when he gets to his his floor, he paws through the envelop for his key, only for the lock not to budge. Frowning, he tries two more times and then tries with werewolf strength, but all he'll succeed in doing is breaking the lock, and he doesn't really want to do that. It's a relief to know that he still has his werewolf strength, but he still wants his privacy. So he proceeds to knock on the other two doors on that floor. Number 9 doesn't answer, but he hears rustling behind number 7.

It sounds as if the person is just waking up, and though Derek feels a little bad, his very nice leather-strapped watch is telling him that it's nearly eleven am. 

All words of request die on his tongue however, as the door opens a little way to reveal the most gorgeous man that Derek has ever seen. 

Of course, it's a movie cliche, this definitely has to be a movie of some sort. The man- or boy, he only looks about nineteen years old, has very messy, but very soft toking dark hair that tufts over his eyes and partially sticks up in a mirage of directions. His skin is pure cream, dotted with beauty marks. His nose is the most delicate thing Derek has ever seen, and it matches his slender build, and even though his eyes are half lidded- Derek can see they're the most beautiful shade of honied amber. He smells like faded cologne and flowers, and he looks soft as a rose petal, his heart beat still slowed with sleep, as he peers at Derek and mumbles in a sleep-ridden voice. 

"Yes?"

Derek stands there for a moment, flabbergasted. He thinks he understands the old witch now, people as beautiful as this man don't exist in Derek's time. Or anywhere in  _reality._ And that isn't fair. Where are the beauties of the past days in the present? Derek feels a little left out. Because though he feels ridiculous, he can understand that he probably looks quite dapper in his suit. And that the cars have an edge of class over the ones they do back in Derek's time, or reality, whichever it is. 

"I uh- my door to my apartment won't open?" He tries, and cringes. He doesn't talk as someone from this era. The boy blinks at him again, and drawls through a yawn:

"Maintenance, the locks require a little work." He then disappears from the crack in the door, and into his apartment, Derek stands there for a moment, before understanding the implication to follow him inside. He marvels at the lack of security, but relishes in being nearer to the nameless beauty. 

The apartment is bright and airy, all the blinds open and all the windows open, but it's a mismatch of furniture. It's fairly empty and many things are still in boxes, but the scent of this man, and the flowers is even stronger in here. 

He can see all of the man now, and he's tall and lithe, dressed in a long, billowy white night shirt, and blue pants. He pads barefoot across the floor, and pauses in the centre of the room, looking a little confused. At that moment, a ginger and marmalade cat appears, and winds itself around the man's ankle. "Oh, hello Cat," the boy murmurs, as the cat proceeds to scale him until he's perched half wrapped around the boy's shoulders. "Do you know, by any chance, where I put the number for maintenance?" 

The cat meows a little, and the boy nods seriously, petting his head. 

"Of course, of course," and he then goes over to the little alcove designed to be the kitchen and plucks a number off the  _top_ of the fridge. Not off the front where Derek thinks it ought to be stuck with a magnet, but the top. "Here you go, my good man," he smiles, handing it to Derek, and Derek just stares utterly bemused at the pyjama clad-beauty and the cat on his shoulders. 

"Uh...thank you?"

"The phone's in the suitcase," the boy offers, heading back over to the kitchen and pulling three wine glasses out of the fridge, and then a glass of milk. Derek relishes for a moment, at seeing the old glasses that milk used to come in, as the boy pours three glasses full. He sets one down on the ground, and the cat immediately leaps down, before he comes and hands one over to Derek. Derek doesn't know if drinking out of wine glasses is something people did back in the day- he doesn't think so- but he joins the boy as they sip their milk. Derek wonders on some distant level if that cat has ever drunk out of this glass, but it's not as though he can get sick. The milk is not as sweet as Derek is used to, but it is reassuringly milk-like, and refreshingly cool. 

"I always start my day with some milk," the boy says, perching himself down on the small couch that is mostly cushions. "There's something about it all. I can't stand water, it's so tasteless. And juice? Oh sure I buy the fruits, but taking all that time to squeeze it into a few drops of bitter liquid? It's not for me, no thank you," Derek sits beside him tentatively, and reaches for the suitcase. And then he pauses. 

He may not know a lot about fashion, but Laura is mad for it, and he's picked up a few things by being subjected to her constant blabbering. "This is a Louis Vuitton Box suitcase," he says in awe. 

The boy looks up from where he was resting his eyes against a pillow, and beams delightedly. "Oh! You're a fan? That's so delightful. It's a cute little thing, isn't it? I mean, I only use it for decoration, not as an actual suitcase, but it was so pleasing to the eyes that I couldn't resist!" 

Derek stares. The case is beautiful, and those sorts of things go for thousands and thousands of dollars back in Derek's time. They're incredibly rare, and at the moment it's sat on the floor, holding- Derek lifts the lid- a pink telephone and a bundle of dusty magazines. "These are very expensive." He manages hoarsely. "Where I'm from this would...this would take a very long time to afford."

The boy laughs, and it sounds like the melodic twinkle of music. His throat completely bare, and his fingers curled delicately around his wine glass. "And where are you from, sweetheart?" His voice is tinted with an amused lilt. "You can pick one of these up in New York for a complete bargain. Why, the fellow over at Lawer only charges me pittance, as long as I help make some jewellery for his wife. I'll pick you up one the next time I go, darling, since we are neighbours after all." He smiles warmly, and there's a fluency in the way he talks, a gentle accent of elegance that lets Derek know that he's dangerously enamoured. 

"What's your name?" He asks, swallowing thickly, as the boy finishes the last of his milk. He twirls the delicate glass between his nimble fingers and a few drops of milk splash onto the floor. 

"Oh, it's far too difficult for anyone to remember. So I tell people to call me Stiles, because Stiles isn't a name you're likely to forget, is it?" He smiles warmly, before catching sight of Derek's watch as his hand reaches for the phone in the suitcase. "Oh," he laughs embarrassedly, though he doesn't smell embarrassed at all. "I suppose it is rather late for me still to be in my night clothes, isn't it? It's just that I don't have to wake up before noon on any day other than Thursday, you see." Stiles stands up, stretching and heading back to the kitchen. Derek twists in his seat to follow him with his gaze. Stiles sets his glass down on the counter, and the cat jumps up and starts licking at its remnants. 

"Wait," Derek says suddenly, as Stile steps into a ray of late morning light shining through the kitchen window. It casts grey shadows along his face and makes his eyes burn gold. "I think it is Thursday."

Stiles stops. He looks jarred out of his sanguine sleep state. "No! Surely not!"

Derek double checks his newspaper, and nods; cringing. "It is."

Stiles groans, throwing his hands up in dismay and the cat is forced to jump out of the way. "It's all so typical, isn't it?" He cries, immediately racing around the room. Derek stands up, phone abandoned. Stiles is exuding chaos and energy and is grabbing clothes and bottles off the small coffee-table, the floor and the out of the kitchen sink, and rushing into the bedroom. "Everyday but one, and I can't even manage that! What's the time, dear?" His voice is hurried, and Derek stands, peering into the sink to realise it's full of silk ties and strips of metal. There's not a dish in sight, other than the wine glasses. He walks gingerly into Stiles' open bedroom, which is just as awkwardly furnished as the front room.

Derek checks his watch "It's about 11:20," he says, watching as Stiles rushes into the bathroom and dumps all his clothes by the sink. 

"Oh, well that's not so bad," he mutters, running the tap, and dousing his face and a lot of his hair into the streaming water. The sink is a huge thing, and Stiles can nearly get his entire head into it. The tap knobs are old and grand, with large jutting fingers unlike the sleek flat ones Derek is used to. "I don't suppose you'd be an absolute sweetheart and look for my black brogues? The one with the trimmed laces, if you don't mind. I have people to impress today." His voice echoes against the porcelain, and sounds slightly muffled, as if he's brushing his teeth at the same time. 

Derek looks around the bedroom, and can see the spot where Stiles must have been sleeping just before Derek knocked on the door. He can see a cluttered bedside table, crammed with sweets and what look like shining spots of glitter or dust, and then on the other side of the room is another low lying coffee table, with a large bouquet of flowers on it. Upon closer look, one of the flowers is actually a shoe. A black brogue, with what Derek assumes are trimmed laces. He sets about looking for the other one, wondering how this has become his life.

He hears Stiles' gargle as he searches the bottom of the wardrobe. "It's just luck, isn't it? How is anyone supposed to remember what day it is? Someone really should call, at the very least. If they want need me so badly." 

Derek sits on the bed as he peers under it. "You keep your phone in a suitcase," he offers "maybe you don't hear it," 

There's a little hum of consideration, before Stiles nods. "You know, you're probably right." Derek watches as Stiles fiddles with his hair in the mirror.

His body is tingling with arousal. Stiles is bare chested, and combing his hair back neatly, pausing from time to time to dip his comb into a clear looking gel out of a grand looking little tub. He watches as Stiles squirts cologne onto his neck and wrists from a big glass bottle, and then slides on a red shirt. Derek manages to control himself and look away as Stiles pulls on grey dress pants and socks. He's amazed that someone can have such a lack of modesty, but he's exceedingly grateful for it. Stiles comes back into the bedroom and watches Derek expectantly from the foot of the bed. 

Derek hands him the shoe. "I could only find one," he offers and Stiles frowns, sliding it on. 

"Well that won't do," and he sets about to looking under his blankets. Derek wonders what kind of life this man lives if his shoe might be on his bed, whilst the other one was in a bouquet. Whatever kind of life it is, Derek has a sneaking suspicion he'd like to be a part of it.

The cat meows at Derek from a high shelf covered with thick books, and Derek spies a black shoe. He reaches up to get it and the cat jumps onto his shoulder, purring happily. He notes a few of the titles: _Smoking: The Untold Truth, Mercantile Law,_ and  _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe._ It's eclectic at best. "Here," he offers, and Stiles beams, grabbing the shoe and wiping it free of dust, before sliding it on. He then goes over to his large dressing table and sets about rifling through an array of glittering rings and watches from a finely decorated box. 

"Which do you like best?" Stiles asks, meeting Derek's eyes in the reflection of his dresser. Derek is once again caught by his beauty. The slicked hair gives him an edge of professionalism, and his shirt is starchly uncreased, and his skin looks positively edible. He's sexy, that's for sure, but there's something more to it than that. Some element of grace that sets him apart from the attractive people Derek has seen when he goes to supermarket, there's something superior written into every line of his body. He looks almost ethereal, and unfailingly kind. He's never really thought about whether angels exist of not, but if they do, he imagines they may look a bit like Stiles. The cat nuzzles his ear, almost as if it agrees. 

Derek looks over Stiles' shoulder, stumped.  The box full of diamonds glitters merrily in the light, and there is an assortment of colours and shapes. He sees a large circular ruby, a triangular emerald and what looks like a square pearl. "Um...the blue one?" so Stiles pulls out the blue hexagonal ring and slides it onto his right hand (it probably shouldn't be as sexual as Derek sees it), and then shows Derek a selection of watches with impeccably detailed straps. "Red." He offers more quickly, to match Stiles' shirt, and the man smiles again, a sweet quirk of his lips. Derek feels his heart speedup and fights the urge to blush.

"You have impeccable taste, dear," Stiles says as he stands up, spinning. "How do I look?"

He looks incredible. His red shirt tucked in and the sleeves rolled up neatly. The sparkling ring, and the complimentary watch, and the grey trousers and black brogues, his hair professionally styled, and smelling of cologne and more flowers. "Impeccable." He says, trying not to come across as creepy, and Stiles bows his head. 

"Well I couldn't have done it without you." And he sets about flicking through his wardrobe for the matching suit jacket. "You're a neighbour sent from God, that's for sure. And to think, I really thought it was Monday today! I'd have slept at least until sunset!" He pushes hangers along the rack as he peruses the jackets. "Well, Cat would probably have woken me. He's terribly greedy and irate. I'll nearly bankrupt myself one of these days trying to feed that thing. Oh but I love him, really,"

The werewolf nods, attempting to follow the train of thought. "You said you design jewellery?" Derek asks, gently removing the cat from his perch on his shoulders. "Is that your job?" 

"Oh yes," Stiles calls distractedly, his head half buried in clothes. "I'm a designer for Tiffany's, you know, the department store?"

"I know it," Derek nods, he's had to buy Laura enough stuff from there. "You designed those rings and watches?" 

"I did indeed," Stiles grins, revealing a grey suit jacket which he bats with his right hand before tugging it off the coat hanger. "I have to display the merchandise you see. Tiffany's is having a meeting with some metal importers today and they like having me in the room. It's all rather silly, but every Thursday they want an update, a sort of design brief for the new ideas I've had. All the fixtures in this apartment are Tiffany's, you know. I'm fairly certain I designed the strap for your darling little one too."

Derek peers at his own watch more carefully, and the strap is leather and bound in simple but beautiful engravings. "It's beautiful. You're very talented." 

"You are far too sweet." Stiles murmurs, giving himself a final look in the mirror, wincing slightly before nodding. "Well, I should be off now. Feel free to stay and call maintenance, that is why you came after all. Bye Cat," he kneels to pet the cat who meows beseechingly, and heads for the door. Derek darts after him. 

"Okay," he nods "I'll be here." 

"It doesn't bother me, dear," Stiles waves, not turning around as he heads down the stairwell as Derek looks down over him. "I just hope I'm not late! Thank you for all your help! I'm truly grateful! And please don't forget to put the phone back when you're done!" 

And he's gone. 

Derek stands there, leaning against the bannister, exhausted and bewildered for a moment. Before the cat curls around his ankle, and tugs him back into Stiles' apartment. "I didn't even get to tell him my name," he murmurs to himself, sitting back on the couch and twirling the card for maintenance. 

 

Derek gets his own room settled, and spends the afternoon organising what few belongings he has. The wardrobe is full of suits, and his shelves are lined with books he'd enjoy, and the fridge fully stocked, but obviously he hadn't brought any of this stuff himself. He misses his phone, and spends the afternoon reading and wondering how he's going to get back to his own time, when he hears the sound of Stiles' shoes against the steps at the bottom of the stairwell and the sound of his voice. 

"It was a custom engraving for my daughter," comes a voice Derek doesn't recognise, and he opens his door a little to peek out. They aren't visible yet, but it lets him better hear the conversation. "Please, she lost it and she's absolutely desperate for another one. Nowhere else in the state will even attempt how I describe it!" 

"I was an intense labour of love," Stiles says back, and he sounds light and airy and not at all concerned. 

The man splutters for a moment, apparently paused, before racing to follow Stiles. "She's just a little girl, she needs another one-"

"I'm afraid that's quite impossible, Mr Keynes. I do apologise." 

Derek shuts the door a little when he spies Stiles and Mr Keynes reach Stiles' floor. Mr Keynes is in a neat suit with greasy hair, but a kind face. He wrings his hat in his hands, in pure distress. "Oh, oh you don't understand! She's only small and she loved the necklace, really she did, she said it made her feel so safe, and she took it everywhere with her. But that's the problem with kids, you know? She lost it in the park, and she's ever so sad!"

Stiles looks just as good as he did this morning, better now as there's a little more skin on display. His jacket is folded neatly over his arm, and his bare forearms are visible. His watch face glints in the dim corridor lighting. "I'm sure you know my policy by now, Mr Keynes. Of custom and bespoke gifts, I do not ever make the same thing twice. I cannot simply  _replicate_ it. I couldn't if I wanted to, because I don't remember exactly what I did. And I don't particularly want to. I'm sorry for your daughter, but hounding me for a repeat simply isn't going to do anything for you."

"Oh Mr. Stilinski please!"

Stiles sighs, and Derek has him utterly in profile, beautiful and elegant. He whirls on his heel and lifts his head. "I can, for a fee, make her another necklace. It will not be the same, but in it's own way, it will be beautiful. Does that appease you?" 

The man looks considering, and Derek wills him to take it because he can tell from the lines in Stiles' face that this is an extremely kind offer that won't last very long. "Yes, thank you very much. Should I give my instruction to Tiffany's?"

"If you would." 

And Derek watches as the two men part. He waits all of five minutes before knocking on the apartment door, and Stiles calls a exasperatedly fond:

"Mr Keynes, I've already told you, darling, there's nothing more-" Stiles opens the door, he looks guileless and stunning. "Oh, it's you!" He smiles sweetly, "come in, you're the very helpful neighbour, aren't you? Door stuck again? Maybe you ought to copy out the number from maintenance. At least until they offer you one of your own," he ushers Derek inside and the cat curls around Stiles' ankles lovingly. "I'm afraid I never caught your name. Isn't that silly of me? I'm sure I'd forget my own head if it wasn't responsible for all my incredible ideas."

Derek yanks his gaze away from Stiles' legs and nods, barely. "Derek." He manages "how was work?" 

"Oh same old, same old, I adore it all really. There's something about Tiffany's, and the sparkling jewels. I get to work with some rather exquisite diamonds."

"I overheard your conversation with a man a few moments ago,"

"Oh yes," Stiles sighs, removing his ring and watch, and toeing off his shoes. "That's Mr Keynes, charming fellow really, but he loses an awful lot of the jewellery I make and I have to keep making more. He must have the clumsiest little family in the whole of New York. I don't mind too much though, he pays well and Tiffany's loves that about him. And if Tiffany's loves it, then I love it." He moves like a dancer across his apartment, closing the windows and drawing a lot of the blinds. He unbuttons the top few clasps of his shirt, and opens the fridge, peering into it. "I really ought to buy food. I'm ever so forgetful." 

Derek leaps at the chance, and his wolf growls approvingly at the thought of providing for this man. "I have a fully stocked fridge. I could make you dinner? To say thanks for all your help this morning?" 

The boy leans against the fridge door, smiling bemusedly. "That's very charming, but I'm sure I couldn't impose-"

"I insist." Derek assures "I even have some ham for the cat." 

"Well alright," Stiles beams "I'll be there in a few minutes. Let me wash all this stuff out of my hair and dress the cat." 

It takes Derek a few moments to realise Stiles is joking, but when he does he lets out a reluctant huff of a laugh, and Stiles seems thrilled to have been the cause of it. He goes over to his own apartment and is grateful for the reprieve. He feels like a teenage girl, but he is awed by Stiles. The man is downright the most gorgeous specimen on the face of the planet, his eyes alone...Derek could write poetry about those eyes. He glances at what he's wearing, a button up shirt tucked neatly into chequered trousers. He looks good, the tight curve of his muscles prominent through the linen. He neatens up the already neat room, and starts pulling things from the fridge. It had come fully stocked, and he only takes out what he vaguely recognises as cuts of chicken mostly vegetables, things he can cook. He sets out the pots and pans and begins peeling, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his arm when there comes a knock at the window.

He reflexively turns towards the door, before registering the fact that the sound didn't come from there. 

He turns and sees Stiles perched on the fire escape, with the cat in tow, smiling with his hair all floppy and dark. The dusk frames him in peach light, and Derek opens the window and breathes in the scent of him. 

"You have a lovely apartment." Stiles says, swinging his legs over the side of the frame. The cat jumps in and heads straight for the bookshelf, curling up atop some American classics. His tail polishes the spine of Moby Dick. "It already looks more lived in than mine, darling. You take pride in that sort of thing? I admire it, I'm far too careless. In everything other than jewellery mind you, I know my jewellery." 

"I don't doubt that for a second." Derek assures, and gestures to the circular table for Stiles to sit down. "I'm making chicken, how does that sound?" 

Stiles sits down gracefully, thumbing the tablecloth. "Oh I'm fine with anything, really. Chicken sounds lovely." Derek nods and stands peeling at the counter near Stiles, wondering how he should start a conversation, but Stiles does that for him. "So what do you do? If you do anything. I think it's perfectly alright not to do anything. If I didn't love my diamonds I think I wouldn't do much of anything at all. I'd walk the streets and watch the sky..." his voice trails off, and he looks distantly at the tablecloth between his fingers like he's not really seeing it. 

Derek nearly peels off the skin of his finger. "No uh- I'm a - I work as a personal trainer." He rushes.

Stiles blinks, and turns in his seat, resting his chin in his hands. It's as if he's the subject of a beautiful painting, Derek can just picture the art students lining up outside the museum for their chance to copy the beauty that was captured in oil prints. "A personal trainer? I've never heard of that, what do they do?" He sounds delighted at the prospect of learning something new, and Derek immediately likes that about him. Which is odd, as curiosity typically irritates him, but now...now he feels encouraged to talk. 

Unfortunately, it doesn't help that his neighbour's voice is all innocence, and sex, and shit right, Derek should've said something more generic but he goes for it now. "Well...if someone has a goal, and they don't necessarily have the rigidity to impose that goal...I help. Like moral support."

The smile Stiles gives him is wide, and shows off a row of pearl teeth. "Oh that's charming! I never knew such jobs existed. You help people achieve their dreams...I'm sure you must be rather well paid." 

"I do okay," Derek nods, tips of his ears turning red. "But you...you're amazing at what you do."

The milk-skinned boy smiles elegantly. "I do love it. There's nothing like shaping a diamond, or selecting whether a topaz or an onyx would look better in the centre of a design. I've tried upward of fifty times to make something for that brute-" he points an accusing glare at the cat who's now clawing at Huckleberry Finn, "-bejewelled collars, tiny bracelets, even a little ring for his tail, but he hates them all." 

Derek slides the carrots into a sieve. "He's just a free soul, that's all. Doesn't understand the concept of diamonds." 

Stiles  _hmmfs_ "so good with the advice," he says, and Derek shrugs a little; embarrassed. "So, Derek," and Derek shivers at the way his name sounds on Stiles' lips. Like heaven and hell at the same time. "You should come to Tiffany's sometime. I work most afternoons, and I could show you what I do. You don't have to, of course, but it's so nice to have someone in this building who's not always badgering me about something. Do come, won't you? We could have lunch together before we go. I'm always looking for someone to treat me to lunch." He bats his eyelashes teasingly. 

"I'll be there." Derek almost exclaims, embarrassingly fast, and he nods vigorously. "Sure, I'd...I'd love to get to know the city more anyway."

The jewellery designer looks as though this is a new thought to him. "But of course! You only just moved here! Gracious, I'll show you around! My way of thanking you!" 

Derek nods again, that's all he can do not apparently, and goes back to the chicken and vegetables. It's hard to concentrate with Stiles there, and he spends most of dinner simply staring at the man and sneaking the Cat pieces of chicken, but there's something to the way Stiles talks. The passion for his craft, the unabashed opinions and the complete disregard for what people think of him that Derek is completely attracted to. The man also seems to be unaware to how utterly appealing he is, and he talks about an ex-boyfriend he had who was a complete rat and who Stiles had thrown out and had banned from Tiffany's. 

Derek adores that Stiles can take care of himself, but he also wants to punch this ex-boyfriend in the face. 

Stiles leaves the way he came that night, through the window, and sits in the frame for a moment, face close to Derek's and smelling sweet and looking soft as a rose. "It was a lovely dinner, Derek, thank you for having me." And he kisses Derek's cheek, briefly, but there. 

The cat stays, and cuddles with Derek that night; warm, cozy, and full of chicken. 

**Author's Note:**

> COMMENTS GIVE YOU GOOD KARMA CUTIE PIES 
> 
> So a whole bunch of disclaimers, but if you made it this far I'm going to assume you've seen past my many many flaws and I thank you for it
> 
> \- i don't know anything about history/tiffanys/jewellery making  
> \- I'm not american so my slang's a little off   
> \- what cars did they even have in the 60s   
> \- everyone's gay back then and homophobia didn't exist like it never should have   
> -how did men even dress back then  
> -why does stiles say darling all the time   
> \- stiles is ooc but he'll become who you know and love over the course of the story mwah mwah 
> 
> So i hope you liked it and stick around for the rest! As always suggestions are welcome, and feedback is appreciated! I love the film so much, and if there's a particular scene you liked, or a character you want, that you can think of a cool teen wolf way to fit in, I'm happy to pay tribute!
> 
> Love you guys! xx


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